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Kirishima’s maroon eyes widened in awe—his lips, face, and spirit lit up all at once as he stepped forward, the landscape shimmering before him.
“Whoa… This is amazing!”
The steel grey of the rugged mountains glowed faintly in the early light, softening where a lush forest spilled down the slopes. A pastel-blue lake caught the first rays of sunrise, flickering like glass. Low-lying clouds drifted lazily across the ridges, like nets of cotton slowly unraveling, and birdsong began to rise, delicate and clear.
Kirishima drew in a deep breath, the breeze rich with morning dew. He closed his eyes as it swept through his bangs. Beside him, Bakugou watched in silence, arms crossed.
It had become a tradition—Kirishima inviting Bakugou out for hikes near the school, coaxing him into the quiet rhythm of the hills. He knew Bakugou loved the feel of rough terrain underfoot, the sound of nature breathing around him, the thrill of reaching the summit like he’d conquered something real.
But this time Bakugou had been the one to ask.
He’d shown up at Kirishima’s door just before dawn, voice low and a little rough, eyes still heavy with sleep as he mumbled if Kirishima wanted to come with him. It had been awkward, hasty, strangely shy.
Kirishima had barely held himself back from hugging him right then and there. That image—Bakugou, flustered and barely awake—was burned into his memory. He’d treasure it.
“It’s a thank-you,” Bakugou muttered now, not looking at him. His breath steamed in the cold morning air. “For… saving my ass.”
It clearly cost him to say it—Kirishima could see it in the pinch of his nose, the flush spreading to his ears.
“Thanks, man,” Kirishima said softly, smiling. “This means a lot. I love it.”
And he meant it. The view was breathtaking, the kind of quiet miracle that made you pause and actually feel something. And Bakugou had brought him here. Covered his eyes on the way so it would be a surprise.
The thought warmed him, and so did the realization that they had the whole day to themselves—just the two of them. Maybe they’d nap under a tree. Maybe race to see who could climb higher. Bakugou would wear that rare, faint smile that always made Kirishima’s chest ache in the best way.
“—not okay.”
Kirishima blinked, pulled from his thoughts by Bakugou’s voice. He turned to look at him, heart stuttering at the quiet firmness in his tone.
“You’re not okay,” Bakugou said again, glancing at him with narrowed eyes.
And he wasn’t.
Kirishima swallowed hard, licking his lips. His heart thumped painfully. Bakugou’s voice was too gentle, too knowing. He saw right through him—and it hurt.
“I know you haven’t been sleeping,” Bakugou continued, gaze fixed on the horizon.
Kirishima tried to shrug it off, pasting on a weak smile. “I just… I study better at night. Helps me focus, y’know?”
He laughed, but it came out dry. The lie sat in his throat like a rock. His shoulders sagged.
“Kirishima.”
Bakugou’s voice was low and serious now, and when Kirishima finally looked at him, the concern in his eyes made him want to disappear.
He looked down, eyes stinging. His fingers clenched around the strap of his bag.
“I’m scared,” he whispered. “I’m scared something’ll happen to you again. That you’ll get hurt or taken and I won’t be able to stop it.”
He bit his lip, the memory rising sharp and awful in his chest.
“I was terrified,” he said. “When you disappeared… all I could think about was getting you back. Fast. Safe. Nothing else mattered.”
He could still hear his voice breaking in that hospital room, begging his classmates to go after Bakugou. He’d felt like the ground had been ripped from under him.
“But when I saw you at Kamino… I was so relieved. I was just—so damn glad you were okay.”
Bakugou moved then. Kirishima heard the crunch of his boots on the dirt, felt the shift in the air between them. He couldn’t look up—his mind was blank, his heart beating too fast.
Bakugou exhaled, and Kirishima barely caught the words.
“I told you to keep being the dumbass you always are…”
That familiar gruffness made his chest tighten. Slowly, Kirishima raised his head.
The sunlight was hitting Bakugou directly, lighting up his blond hair like spun gold. His red eyes shimmered, and his face was flushed—half with annoyance, half with something softer.
Then, gently, Bakugou reached out. His hand slid down Kirishima’s side to rest on his waist, gripping it lightly. Kirishima shivered.
Bakugou leaned in, their mouths just inches apart. His breath ghosted over Kirishima’s lips.
They stared at each other, hearts racing, cheeks hot. Kirishima’s hand rose almost on its own, pressing flat against Bakugou’s chest, where his heartbeat pounded wild under his jacket.
They looked at each other like they were something rare. Something sacred.
And then Bakugou kissed him.
It was soft. Surprisingly so. Their lips brushed—cool and damp from the morning air—but quickly warmed in the space between them. Bakugou’s fingers curled behind Kirishima’s ear, stroking gently.
When he pulled back, Kirishima was breathless, lips tingling. His eyes fluttered open, catching the gleam of Bakugou’s smile—and the blush dusting his cheeks.
Before he could speak, Bakugou surged forward again, kissing him harder this time. Fierce. Desperate.
Kirishima gasped, clutching at his jacket. The heat between them spiked. When their tongues met, he whimpered softly, unable to stop the noise from escaping. Bakugou trembled, grabbing him tighter.
They kept kissing, hands everywhere—necks, backs, hips—each touch trying to say what words couldn’t. Kirishima tilted his head up, wanting more, offering more.
“Bakugou—” he breathed, voice wrecked with feeling.
Bakugou groaned, dragging him closer. Their bodies pressed tight, their hearts thundering together. Kirishima barely registered the tears running down his face until Bakugou pulled back, thumb brushing his cheek, mouth kissing the sadness away.
“I’m gonna work harder,” he murmured. It wasn’t a promise to Kirishima—it sounded more like something he needed to say out loud.
“I swear…” His voice turned hoarse. His eyes, bright and glassy, found Kirishima’s. He pressed their foreheads together. “I’m not gonna make you worry like that ever again.”
Kirishima felt something unclench in his chest. His hands found Bakugou’s face, warm and pink from the cold and emotion alike.
“Okay,” Kirishima breathed, eyes shimmering. “Okay.”
He kissed Bakugou’s forehead. The little crease between his brows. The bridge of his nose.
And then—his lips. Softly, like a prayer.
When he pulled away, a sob slipped out. He tried to hide his face with a hand, but Bakugou caught him, kissed him again—salty, raw, gentle. He kissed away the tears.
“I swear,” Bakugou whispered again, as if sealing it in stone.
Even with his usual gruff look, the flush on his cheeks and the way his lips stayed parted made him look almost tender. Kirishima leaned in again, covering his face in tiny kisses—his smile, his eyes, the hollow beneath his jaw.
Bakugou sighed as Kirishima’s lips traced down his neck. Kirishima didn’t want to let go. He needed him close, needed him to feel how deeply he was loved.
He would kiss Bakugou over and over until the promise was no longer words—but something written on their skin, under the dawn sky and the wildfire in their hearts.